


Grey Sands

by Moreena



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 02:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9413591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moreena/pseuds/Moreena
Summary: Quatre has been working himself ragged for months.  He and Trowa are due for a vacation when Trowa sends his carefully constructed world to its knees.  Quatre has to be strong, and use the time apart to decide what he really wants, and how far he's willing to go for it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading way too many yaoi mangas online. I blame them for this. Damn thing wrote itself in my head. Also photo prompt from FOREVER ago. Photo will be at the end of the fic.

Closing the door of their apartment, Quatre leaned back against it, dropping his briefcase to the floor inside the foyer and let out a heavy, rattling sigh. He hated business sometimes. He’d been working like a dog, running himself into the ground for the past six months. WEI was in the middle of a huge acquisition of another company that would help expand their client base, and enable them to do more in the colonies and on earth. However, because the other company was a fairly large entity, it was much more complicated than any of the other acquisitions that Quatre had overseen. So, he’d worked longer hours, for six months. But, one more month. Four weeks of this grueling pace, and then he had a vacation, for three weeks. Two and a half would be spent on Earth, hopefully with Trowa, after he told him they would be going.

Trowa had been supportive, if a bit distant. He’d cooked dinner every night and left it waiting for Quatre in the microwave if it got to be too late. He took care of most of the household chores, and even made sure Quatre took a little time to at least relax with a drink or music at night. While they didn’t have sex every night, they made an attempt to have one another at least once or twice a week. Quatre had been even busier in the past two weeks, so they hadn’t even had time for that. But, tonight he was home much earlier than usual. In time for dinner, which meant afterwards he could relax, with Trowa, and if everything proceeded smoothly, he’d have his lover’s body in some way.

Passing through the home he’d shared with his partner for the past three years, Quatre shook his head as he thought back on all the things they’d done and been through together. After the war, they’d gone their own ways for a while. Everyone that mattered knew how to find Quatre. Five years after the Mariemaia incident, Trowa had called him up. Had wanted to get together for dinner, since he was going to be on L4, checking out the Preventers field office. He was considering joining, and Quatre was more than happy to carve out time for his best friend. Things had progressed from there, and dinner had led to Trowa taking them back to his hotel room. Sleep had come in the early morning hours, when the sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon.

It had only been natural for Trowa to move into Quatre’s apartment when he took the offered job with Preventers, and here they were now. Living together, still in the blissfully happy honeymoon phase of their relationship. They were comfortable in their own skin, which made them successful in their relationship. Trowa hadn’t changed much, he’d only grown taller and filled out more. He still had that same piercing forest-green gaze from under his fall of dark auburn hair, and that quiet manner of speaking; almost enough to make mountains move when he did grace the world with his voice.

Quatre had grown taller too, but he’d kept the slim youthfulness he’d always had. He was a head shorter than Trowa, and always would be. It made snuggling up to him easier though. He could put his head on Trowa’s chest, and the brunette still had free range to move his head around. Quatre’s face had thinned out, but he still looked slightly delicate, with his large, soulful eyes. He’d let his hair grow out as well, sandy blonde locks grazing the tops of his shoulders. It had just enough length he could tie it back with a hair tie and have a little tail. Trowa thought it was rather endearing and liked to bap at it, like a cat with a favorite toy.

He refocused himself on the present and pushed open the bedroom door, intent on slipping into something far more comfortable than his suit. Sweat pants and a shirt of Trowa’s seemed like a fitting outfit to inspire his relaxation. But, it quickly faded away like steam billowing from a boiling pot of water. Trowa was sitting on the bed, looking haggard and worn out. Like he’d gone up against a thousand mobile suits with nothing but a handgun to fight them off. Thoughts of anything to benefit himself went out the window, and he approached his lover, one hand moving to lay atop Trowa’s clasped hands, concern etched onto the blonde’s angelic face.

“What happened Trowa? You look like you got stepped on by a gundam,” Quatre queried, keeping his tone light in an attempt to brighten the mood.

Anguish rushed to his mind as Trowa pulled his hands away, as if Quatre’s touch was acid and stung him. Quatre recoiled himself, taking a half step back. It wasn’t like Trowa at all, and if he focused on that extra sense he had, his empathetic ability, all he could feel coming from Trowa was dark feelings. Anger, betrayal, hurt. Nothing like normal. Quatre like feeling the emotions that came off of the taller man, liked wrapping them around himself like a thick blanket on a cold winter’s day. Trowa never objected, always just opened himself up. He knew that Quatre’s ability was important to him, and that sometimes he needed to both use it and keep it as close as an old friend so it wouldn’t turn against him. Quatre pulled himself back, trying to calm his heart as it beat a frantic tattoo against his ribs, swallowing once, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion.

“This isn’t working Quatre. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Trowa’s voice was… It wasn’t normal. He sounded like he was forcing himself to say it, to have this conversation. He sounded like he was defeated and had just given up.

“W-what do you mean? Three years! We’ve always figured things out. I’m sure we just need to talk about what’s bothering you,” Quatre said, struggling to keep his composure, and to keep his voice calm and rational.

“Not this. I can’t keep living like this. I never see you, we don’t do things together. We’re just a shade of a couple! You come home late and collapse into bed. I don’t even know the last time you told me that you loved me,” Trowa bit out harshly, his gaze darting up to Quatre’s face.

In that moment, Quatre didn’t recognize the man in front of him. It was some cruel shell of a man, and not his endearing lover. One of his hands came up to rest on his sternum, hoping that by doing it, he could keep his heart from shattering out through the front of his body.

“I… Things are going to be back to normal soon. This has been a busy time, it’s not forever. You said you were fine with it when I brought up the subject when it first happened,” Quatre responded meekly, like he was grasping at straws.

“It’s too little too late Quatre. I thought I could do this, but it’s not working. Just… Get out. Get out for now,” Trowa finally ground out, his tone sounding grim and final.

His heart was in his throat, and he didn’t know what to do or say. How did you respond when the person you love told you your relationship was a lie? When they didn’t scream, or get violent? How did one deal with that situation? Did you comply? Fight for a second chance? Quatre considered himself a pragmatic man, an old soul who was wise beyond his twenty-four years. Maybe a bit of distance. A few days for cooler heads to prevail. Turning sharply on his heel, he walked, and he was proud of himself for not running like his blind instinct wanted him to do. He simply walked to the door, pulling it open the rest of the way and inhaling with a shuddering breath.

“I’ve told you I loved you every day. Awake and asleep. I wonder if you were listening when I did say it Trowa. Because, even with all of this, I love you, and I hope you can figure out what’s brought this on, because I need you, and I love you Trowa.”

He walked out before he could say anything else. Before he could lose his composure and fall apart like he wanted to do. He moved briskly through the apartment, grabbing his briefcase from the floor and his keys off the side table. He slipped out the door, closing it with a soft click. That spoke to how truly broken inside he felt. If he’d been angry, he’d have slammed it with enough force to rattle the windows. The quiet Quatre was both more dangerous and more unpredictable than any other Quatre. His insides felt like they’d been scooped out like a pumpkin and left hollow, without a candle inside.

Slamming down his mental shields, he cut himself off. Cut that innate connection that he shared with only those close to him, like a solid metal dome without seams. It would be the only way he could function long enough to find someplace else to go. He laughed bitterly as he headed for his car, sliding inside the driver’s seat. It was his apartment, and here he was, the one leaving it. Giving in to the whims of others. Truthfully, he was afraid that if he’d stayed, Trowa would have packed up and vanished into the wind like a ghost. Whatever was troubling him was stronger than the hold Quatre had on the taller man, and not even Cathy’s claim as sister would prevent him from running off. No, Quatre wanted to be able to find him, if it came down to that.

He drove without thinking or even really seeing things. It was amazing that he didn’t cause an accident with how distracted he was, as he pulled up to the front of a hotel. He climbed out of the car, the valet coming around the hood to hand him a valet slip and climbing behind the wheel. Quatre felt like a hollow thing, going through the motions of checking in, apologizing to the clerk for wanting a last-minute room for at least a week. She was unfailingly polite, promising him that it was no problem for their hotel to accommodate Quatre Winner. She handed him his room key and gave him a warm smile, and Quatre was gone, heading for the elevator and up into his room.

Truthfully, he was adrift. But, he had to be level-headed and rational. Quatre had to be as strong as he knew himself to be, in order to get through this. So, he gathered his will in close to him with a deeply inhaled breath. Letting it out, he had a plan of action in his mind, and set about getting it done. A quick emergency call to his favorite suit store had an order for three new suits and five shirts and ties to match, to be delivered to the hotel by Sunday evening. An online order was placed to get him a charger wire for his phone, and some clothes that weren’t suits. Other than that, there wasn’t much else that he could do, besides work, or sit and wait.

 

He acted like everything was normal. Everything was perfectly in place in Quatre Winner’s world, and he wasn’t in the middle of a fight that threatened to destroy his life. He worked himself to the bone, his phone at his side, waiting on bated breath for a text or a call. It didn’t have to be an apology. Even a ‘let’s talk’ would be welcome. Quatre was desperate for any kind of communication from Trowa, because he wasn’t going to contact first. Trowa was the one that needed the space, and the blonde had to give it to him.

So, he worked himself to the bone. Harder than he’d even worked in the past six months. His staff were beside themselves with trying to keep up, and to keep him in work. He sent them all home on time, and he kept himself sequestered in his office, the door locked so he could hide. He didn’t want anyone to see him in his manic state that only seemed to come out late at night. He would waver between anger and angst, muttering to himself as he worked, trying to rationalize what had happened and why. Other times he’d sit in his chair, his head tipped back as he cried; fat tears rolling down his face as bemoaned his situation, wondering where he’d made such a wrong turn that had likely cost him his future happiness. 

When he had the depressive episodes, he always wondered how Trowa was handling this separation. If he was still staying at the apartment, sleeping in their bed. Had he moved to the guest room to avoid all the memories of their time together? Was he wallowing in them, being in a place where they’d made some of their best memories together? He desperately wanted to know what and how Trowa was doing, and he was too afraid to ask. He was afraid to try and text or call him, fearful of possible rejection or even Trowa simply ignoring his queries. It was a slippery slope that was driving Quatre into a fit of madness.

 

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of work and nothingness for Quatre. He worked himself until he was exhausted, sometimes unable to even consider driving back to the hotel to sleep. He’d simply crash on the couch in his office for a few hours and be back at work by the time the sun was up. It made his secretary wonder if he was alright, and if he even went home. He’d worked himself so hard that he was ahead on work for when he came back from his vacation in a week. She was impressed, and also concerned. She’d also noticed that Mr. Barton hadn’t stopped by, or even called. Granted, with cell phone he could have called Quatre that way. But, when she’d started here, Trowa had met her, and they had a bit of an understanding. Trowa would call now and then to speak with her and not Quatre. He wanted to check in on the blonde, without letting Quatre know. It was enamoring to see and be a part of. It spoke to how much the other man cared for her boss’ well-being. But, nothing in almost a month, and that unnerved her.

“Laura, I’m going to head out for the day. I know it’s early, but I think I need to call it a day. Give the rest of the staff time to catch up with me,” he said, looking over at her from the doorway of his office.

“Alright Quatre. Should I have your car brought around?”

“That’d be great Laura. I appreciate it,” he said, gracing her with a smile.

It was warm, but Quatre’s face was haggard, with dark circles rimming his eyes. Something was bothering him, and she’d bet money on it being something to do with Trowa. They had to be fighting about something, or maybe Trowa was gone. She knew he worked for Preventers, so maybe he was off doing something for them, and that was why Quatre didn’t seem like himself. Too busy worrying about the other man. Regardless, it wasn’t her place to meddle in the affairs of her boss, so she nodded as he vanished back into his office as she made the call to have someone drive the car up front.

Quatre left a few minutes later, turning off his office lights and shutting the door behind him, his suit jacket and tie draped over his arm, briefcase in his hand. He’d kept in touch with Wufei during all of this. Normally, he’d have gone to Duo, since they were best friends. But, Duo was off doing something for Preventers, and was deep under cover. Heero wasn’t always willing to help, knowing that sometimes people needed to work out their own issues, on their own to better themselves. So, Wufei was his next contact. He’d only asked how Trowa was doing, to be curtly told that the brunette had ‘been better’. It gave Quatre some hope, that Trowa wasn’t completely unaffected by this separation. He’d taken advantage of Wufei’s willingness to help, and had simply asked him to take Trowa out to a late lunch today. He needed to go to the apartment, and frankly, he didn’t want to risk bumping into Trowa when he was still such a tumultuous mess.

Trowa was out, like Wufei had promised, allowing Quatre to enter the apartment. He held his breath, looking around as he closed the door behind himself. Had it only been three weeks since his life had changed so drastically? The apartment looked the same. The table was still there with its chairs pushed in, a pile of mail on one end. The black leather couch with the heavy quilt Iria had given Quatre years ago, folded and draped across the back. It was convenient when passion overtook them and they were too sated to move; all they had to do was reach up to the couch and pull the blanket down and they could remain where they were until they wanted to move.

The bedroom looked the same, yet different. Quatre’s side of the bed was perfectly made, as if merely waiting for him to come home and pull the blankets down and to crawl inside their comfortable softness. Trowa’s side was unmade, messy. As if he’d gotten up and just left the room, unable to bear being in the room longer than necessary. Trowa’s side table also held a bottle of whiskey and a glass, a few dregs of amber-colored liquor gracing the bottom of the glass. And, the picture that Trowa kept of the two of them, smiling at some cookout or something, Trowa’s arm draped over Quatre’s shoulders; both of them smiling at the camera with their heads touching was face down, like it was too much for Trowa to have to see reality day after day.

With a shuddering sigh, Quatre turned to focus on his task at hand. Heading into the closet, he grabbed his suitcase and laid it on the bed before methodically re-entering the closet and pulling out clothes. Jeans, sweaters, shorts, t-shirts. Different levels of clothing since he wasn’t quite sure what the weather was going to be like. It was the off season for the island, but he wanted to be prepared. There were only a few days left after all. When he’d gathered up everything he thought he could need, he moved to his dresser, rooting around inside one of the drawers for something. Finding it after only a few moments, he held both objects to his chest, allowing himself a moment of sadness to run through him as he gazed at them. He wouldn’t wallow or cry, because he didn’t have the time to get lost in his misery. Carefully, he set the little box back into the deep recesses of the drawer and moved the things back over it, resolutely hiding it once again. 

He took the tickets and his suitcase and left the bedroom, carefully separating one set of things from the packet. The shuttle ticket was on top, with the date and time clearly stamped on it for their departure, along with the carrier. He’d decided to forgo private transportation this time, for whatever reason. Quatre wanted to come off as normal, as just another traveler heading off on an adventure. True to his word, the trip was all booked on public transport. Quatre had been counting on Trowa coming for any needed security. As a Preventer agent, he’d be allowed to carry a firearm. It wasn’t looking likely though, so Quatre had made sure to pull his own permit from the safe in his closet, and had gotten his own firearm from the gun safe in the office he and Trowa shared. With a shaking hand, he took one of the larger magnets off the fridge and stuck the packet with all the travel information onto the fridge, holding it in place with the magnet. He added a second one, just to ensure that it would stay up, before he left, closing the door quietly and hurrying out of the building, too afraid of being caught skulking around in his own home by his… Trowa.

 

The day of departure came with little fanfare. He’d calmed himself at work, and had promised his staff he’d control himself, that he’d just wanted the last of the transition complete and new work under way before he’d left. Since he’d gotten so far ahead, their workload would be light while he was gone, so in a way, he’d given them all a bit of respite. A town car had taken him from the hotel to the shuttle port, after he’d canceled the room. He’d had whatever he didn’t need shipped to the office for his return, unsure if he’d be going back to his apartment when he returned in three weeks. The driver had hoisted his bag from the trunk and set it down for him, giving him a handshake and a warm smile, wishing him a restful vacation. Quatre had almost scoffed aloud. How did one have a restful vacation when their world was shattered, and you didn’t know what you’d be coming home to? No, he still had to go. He had to try and enjoy himself, if only for a brief time. It could even open his mind up to other possibilities, or other avenues of trying to fix this relationship.

Security had gone fine, they hadn’t even blinked at his paperwork, or at the gun on his hip, carefully hidden under a sport coat, the holster secured to his shoulder and his jeans. It was different to travel this way. No private lounge, no people fawning over his every whim just to have an excuse to talk to him. People actually ignored him for the most part, too intent on getting to their destinations, or bogged down by work while they traveled. Quatre sat in the waiting area for his shuttle, reveling in the anonymity of just a man on his way to Earth. His eyes kept darting to and fro in his surroundings, constantly on the watch for threats; while he surreptitiously tried to watch for a familiar shock of dark brown hair.

Boarding the shuttle, he stowed his bag and took his seat next to the window, the other first class seat next to him left open for Trowa. As the shuttle filled and people filed past, Quatre kept his gaze turned to the window, trying to control his racing heart. Was he really going to do this alone? Going to Earth to a small island in North America to try and recuperate from a shattered heart? He had a book in his lap, but he didn’t know if he’d wind up reading up, or if he’d get too lost inside his own head and his own emotions. He’d been in turmoil for a month, his own feelings tossing themselves back and forth, like waves crashing onto the beach. He’d kept his steel dome carefully erected in his mind, unwilling to drop it, in case he’d find an errant emotion from Trowa breezing through. He didn’t know if his fragile heart could take feeling another burst of negative emotion from the man he still loved. It might be the straw that broke him for good.

The seat next to him remained empty, as they closed the doors and prepared for departure. Quatre put his book on the empty seat next to him and closed his eyes, trying to sleep for most of the journey. Even if he was plagued with haunting dreams of green eyes, tears and bursts of emotions. When he awoke, they were preparing for entry into the atmosphere, and Quatre leaned over towards the window, watching the blues of the sky shift as the level of the shuttle dropped. Soon enough, his eyes were riveted to the breakthrough of a richer blue of the ocean, and the greens and browns of land. In all his time spent in space, he’d forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful the Earth actually was, and how much he missed its natural charms. He felt like a small child watching a magic trick as the colors shifted and they grew closer to their descent point.

After they docked, he retrieved his belongings and head for the connecting airport. He still had a plane to take, and then he’d have someone meeting him on the island to bring him to the bed and breakfast he’d be staying at for the duration of the trip. He looked and felt like hell from the long shuttle flight, and now a three-hour flight on a small plane from New York to Martha’s Vineyard. The scenery was just as captivating from closer, and Quatre kept his face pressed to the window for the duration of the flight, immune to how undignified he must look.

The first thing to hit him as he cleared the doorway of the plan and descended the stairs to the tarmac below was the scent. Briny salt air assaulted his nose, making him crinkle the appendage at the suddenness of it. The cawing of distant gulls reached his ears, making him smile, recalling the time he’d allowed a flock of flamingos to make their perch on his beloved Gundam Sandrock. Looking around, he smiled, glad he’d picked this place. It had that small-town feeling, that made you think of the old movies and quintessential small town living. Over near the only building on the landing strip, he spied a couple of people waiting for himself and the other passengers on the plane. Making his way over with his bags in tow, he found a young woman in her early thirties with dirty blonde hair around his height with a young red-headed girl in tow, who had to be around five or six years old.

“Quatre Winner?” She asked, extending a hand out.

Her grip was firm but polite, speaking volumes of her character. Her name was Janet, and she ran the bed and breakfast he’d be staying at. Her daughter was Sofie, and was a precocious little thing, with the ability to talk to anyone about anything. Quatre had to admit he was grateful that Janet didn’t ask about Trowa, since he’d booked a room for two people. Janet took his suitcase and led the way to the parking lot and her SUV. They all climbed in and she pulled out onto the main street, offering up a running commentary about the town, and its people. What restaurants had the best food for the best prices, which stores had kitschy tourist things, and which had higher end things. She talked a little about the island and its six towns, and Quatre found himself soothed by the tone of her voice and the cadence of how she spoke.

Janet pulled the SUV down a long driveway, surrounded by fencing and grass. The house was set up on a hill and far back from the road, offering a great deal of privacy. As they exited the car, Quatre was hit again with that salt-water scent and he inhaled deeply. While he stood there, a horse came trotting up to the side of the fence and Sofie ran to the horse, petting it when it leaned down for her. Quatre let out a chuckle at the sight, helping Janet take out his bag. 

“Well, as you can see, we have horses on site if you want to take a ride. On the other side of the house there’s a path that leads down to a private beach. I wouldn’t recommend the water since it’s October and rather cold,” she said with a chuckle.

“I packed for multiple possibilities,” he admitted, taking the time to look up at the house. It was a huge colonial looking mansion. 

A wrap around porch, three stories in white with dark green trim. Everything that you could imagine when thinking of rich colonial New England. It stole Quatre’s breath away, even if the trees were colored in rich reds and vibrant yellows as the change of seasons was well underway. He’d picked this area because of its known beauty for this time of year. He’d had such plans for himself and Trowa…

He followed dutifully as they head inside and up the main staircase to the second floor. They set his bags down in a large bedroom, furnished with old but sturdy looking dark cherry wood furniture. The duvet was a soft cream with a blue design running through it. The room was light and airy, with gauzy curtains hanging in the windows, and an attached bathroom through the only other door in the room.

“Welcome to the Primrose House,” Janet said with a proud flourish. 

The tour was mercifully short, and she explained that breakfast was a serve yourself in the kitchen, unless you wanted something made up and delivered, she needed to know the night before. Lunch was usually cold cuts and salads, between eleven and two. Dinner was a sit-down meal if you wanted to join, or you had options in town. 

“Now, you’ve had a long journey here. I insist you go and rest. I’ll bring up a tray and leave it by the door for your dinner. You need rest, and to work on that air of sadness you’re carrying. A week here and you’ll be feeling much better,” she insisted, shooing Quatre out of the kitchen and towards the stairs.

He went, out of habit. After she said that he needed rest, he felt the pressing weight of exhaustion bearing down on him. In his room, he kicked off his shoes and shed his jacket, carefully unbuckling his holster and setting it into the dresser, unloaded. Then he promptly flung himself onto the bed face down and slept.

 

The first week passed in a blur for Quatre. He fell into an easy routine of sleeping in until eight or nine in the morning. He’d shower and venture down for breakfast, and the day would unfold before him. He’d spent time with Sofie and Janet in the stable looking after the horses, learning their names. He’d taken a few trips into town, walking there just to enjoy the ocean breeze and take in the changing of the seasons without a car to distract him. He’d tried a few restaurants, bought some souvenirs. All in all, it was a rather idyllic vacation. The only black spot was the empty half of the bed. The missing suitcase, and the missing presence walking beside him, sharing soft anecdotes about things they were seeing, holding his hand or cuddling close to him in defense of the chilly October air. Quatre missed Trowa with an intensity that haunted him, that sometimes gave his eyes a vacant looking stare.

It was a week into his stay, and he was eating breakfast with the girls, Janet asking him if he had plans for the day. Sofie interrupted them with a burning question.

“Mr. Quatre? Can I braid your hair?”

“Sofie! That’s a rude question to ask!” Janet chided, shaking her head at the child.

Quatre laughed at her after he finished his mouthful of cereal. “I don’t see why not, after breakfast,” he said, more than willing to humor the girl.

She let out a whoop of joy and finished her own food quickly, scampering off to grab supplies while Quatre kept eating, ignoring Janet’s mutterings about over indulging the girl, considering they had five horses on property who had hair she could braid.

“It’s no trouble at all. She’s a sweet girl, and she’s been very helpful in showing me around, and teaching me about riding. I might actually want to try sometime this week,” the blonde man admitted, looking at the woman over his coffee cup.

“Well then I guess that’s that then. Why not check out the beach today? You haven’t done that yet. And, I know we’ve got some gorgeous scenery. If you follow it down, you can actually see the lighthouse from the edge of the beach. It’s a very pretty photo op,” Janet offered up, almost like she was trying a bit too hard to get him down there.

As Sofie came back in, Quatre brought his dishes to the sink and nodded at Janet. “After my hair appointment, I’ll go change and do that,” he said, unaware of the way she seemed to keep glancing at the clock, then out the window of the kitchen.

They moved to the living room, and Quatre sat on the floor with his back to the couch so Sofie could perch on it, putting his head at a perfect level for her. She was gentle, combing through his hair to free it of tangles, humming to herself as she worked, separating his hair in half then combing that before her tiny fingers made quick work of his hair. Her hands were gentle but nimble, starting at his temple and carefully folding his hair into a braid that went back along the side of his head and into the back, feeling her twist it up when she was finished, tucking the ends into the rest of the hair and holding it into place with a couple pins. She repeated the action on the other side, and with a flourish, offered him a hand mirror to look at her work.

“Absolutely gorgeous. I love it,” Quatre preened, knowing it made him look even more feminine than his longer hair did.

Quatre couldn’t find it in himself to care though. No one who mattered would be seeing him. It was him, on this island with people who either didn’t know, or give a damn who he was. Here, Quatre Winner was just another tourist enjoying the peace and quiet of the off-tourist season. Proud of herself, Sofie ran off to tell her mother all about how much Mr. Quatre liked her hairdo, and Quatre couldn’t help but shake his head and smile at her antics. She was a sweet child, and it almost made him long for something he couldn’t put a name to. Something he wasn’t in a position to ask for, or even want right now in his life.

Looking at his phone, he noticed the temperature was going to be chilly that day, so he dressed in layers to ward off the cold. A pair of well-worn jeans, a long sleeved white shirt, and an oversized grey sweater that was a size too big. He rolled up the sleeves on it so they stayed above his wrists, and he felt as ready as he could for his foray to the beach.

The path to the beach was a littered with pebbles, so he was grateful he’d worn shoes for that part. Once he hit the sand, he kicked off his shoes and left them next to the path. Bending down, he rolled his pants up, folding the cuffs up so they wouldn’t get wet, exposing his ankles to the slight chill of the wind. He was glad for the sweater as a strong gust blew in off the ocean, cold enough to nip at his face and ears, giving him a bit of a red hue to his face. He set off at a lazy pace, no rush or need to be somewhere pressuring him. He had his phone in his pocket to snap pictures, and he was glad he’d listened to Janet and come down to the beach. Even in the dreary October weather, it was gorgeous. The water was dark grey and choppy, the waves landing on the beach with a harsh violence he wasn’t used to seeing. The sky was only shades lighter, implying that the weather might not hold out, that rain or even snow could happen in the next few hours.

Turning back towards the house to take in the view, he stopped short, his heart jumping into his throat again, for the first time in over a month. There he was, making his way down the beach towards him. Quatre reached up and pinched his cheek hard enough to hurt. No, it wasn’t a dream. That was really Trowa, striding across the sand towards him, in his Preventers jacket. He stopped and stood there, waves crashing off to his left as Trowa approached from the right. When they were within touching distance, Trowa stopped and offered up a shy little smile, and Quatre held his breath, wondering what he would say.

“You performed so well for this Quatre. You really acted the part of a grieving lover,” he said, one of his hands coming up to cup Quatre’s face.

His reaction was instant and brutal. He didn’t know what Trowa was talking about, but he let him know that he didn’t appreciate such cryptic first words after a month of silence. Rearing back, Quatre curled his hand into a fist, thumb braced outside of the fist, between his first two fingers and swung. He connected with Trowa’s jaw hard, felt the impact send a ripple of pain down his hand and arm. Fuck, it felt good to let it out though. Watching Trowa’s body turn and stumble with the force of the hit was strangely satisfying too. Trowa’s eyes turned to him, shock written across his face as he rubbed at his wounded jaw.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Over a month! A month of not talking to me, after you kicked me out of our apartment! You never called or texted me! I lived in a fucking hotel and worked myself to death because I didn’t know what to do! And, the first words you say to me are that?! What on earth did you expect?! Why did you do that to me?!” Quatre shouted, his voice rising to a fever pitch with each question, nearly in hysterics by the time he finished.

Realization dawned on Trowa like a ton of bricks, and he actually looked ashamed at himself. He hung his head, letting out a shaky breath at Quatre’s words.

“Someone was supposed to tell you. Guess they fucked that up.”

“Tell me what?” Quatre spat out, trying to keep himself calm for the moment.

“That cell that Duo had been investigating. They’re radicals, out to bring down everything that’s come after the war. I was involved in the missions and they figured out who I was. Wanted to test my loyalty and managed to bug the apartment, your office. I had to push you away. To prove that I was loyal to the cause, so we could bring them down,” Trowa admitted with a sigh. “Your acting was beyond believable,” Trowa finished.

Quatre stood there, absorbing things. Those two weeks they hadn’t touched in bed? Had Trowa known then? Why hadn’t he said anything? There were other ways to communicate! They’d fought in a war damnit, and always had multiple means of communication when there was a risk of being spied on.

“Why didn’t you think to tell me some other way?! Didn’t we used to be soldiers?!” Quatre asked, disbelief creeping into his voice.

Part of him wondered if this was still an act. Gain his trust back just for them to attack and strip them both of everything. Was this the real Trowa he’d spent years knowing, or the Trowa that had infiltrated a sleeper cell of terrorists to try and end them from the inside out?

“I wasn’t thinking Quat. They wanted to kill you, to torture you and make an example out of you. I lost my head in a panic. I was willing to do anything to keep you safe, even break up with you so I could destroy them. You said I yourself, you’ll always love me. I knew I could come back to you. That I still hold a place in your heart.”

There was a pregnant pause between them. Neither of them knew what else to say or do in that moment. Trowa hoped he hadn’t done something irreversible to their relationship. Quatre hoped that he could bounce back from this entire fiasco. Deep down, he knew he could. It might take a while to bounce all the way back, but it was possible. He truly did love Trowa, it was why he had that box hiding in his drawer after all.

“I’m not sorry that I punched you.” Quatre finally spoke, fingers coming up to tentatively touch the spot he’d hit on Trowa’s face.

Trowa flashed him a wry smile, bowing his head with a soft laugh. “I didn’t expect it. I figured you’d be ecstatic that I managed to join you on vacation. Not slug me in the face for fake fighting with you.”

“Next time do your homework. I’ll make sure to give Une an earful the next time I see her,” Quatre teased, leaning on his toes to press a kiss to Trowa’s jawline, toes sinking deeper into the sand.

“Please do. I don’t know how much of that my face can take if her hiding things becomes a frequent occurrence.”

Trowa spun them so they were facing the house again, looping his arm over Quatre’s shoulders, pulling him closer to his body. Quatre’s arm slipped around his lower back, and they slotted together, just like puzzle pieces. Locked together perfectly, like always. They started a slow walk, their hips bumping into one another as they went. Quatre’s body greedily sucked up the extra warmth that Trowa gave off in his jacket.

“I like the hair do by the way,” Trowa teased.

“Sofie is very good at what she does. I have an inkling that you had them both in on your little appearance,” Quatre accused, voice gentle, as he shot his lover a smile as they walked, sand kicking up behind them.

“Guilty as charged. Had to have some way of knowing where you’d be so I could surprise you.”

“Well, I do know that today is grocery day, so Janet and Sofie will be gone for at least two hours, getting the weekly supplies for the house and the horses,” Quatre responded with a sexual tone to his voice, bending down to grab his shoes when they got to the path that led back up to the house.

“I have a month to make up for. Maybe I’ll tell Janet to make up a tray for dinner for us,” Trowa teased, leaning down to nip at Quatre’s ear, loving the way the smaller blonde’s body let out a full body shudder at the tone and touch.

“How about we have two hours, then all night after dinner to reacquaint ourselves? I expect you to give me at least five orgasms before we finally go to sleep,” Quatre shot back, voice filled with lust, his eyes brighter than they’d been in days.

“Well then, I’ll have to pull out every trick in the book to please you, oh beautiful Quatre,” Trowa replied, stopping their ascent.

He spun Quatre to face him, hands cupping Quatre’s cheeks as he leaned down, sealing their mouths together in a sensually filthy kiss. Conveying weeks of emotions into that one action, pressing their bodies flush together. Showing Quatre how much he needed him without words, loving him the only way that he knew how. It was a slow burn of passion, throwing kindling onto a tiny spark, coaxing it into a full-fledged flame. When they broke apart, Quatre was panting slightly, and his face was flushed from the kiss, and the cold.

“Tonight, I want you to drop that shield you put up. It’s been lonely without you poking around in my emotions every now and again. “You’ll let us have a feedback loop when I take possession of your body, making you scream and cry in only the best ways.” 

Trowa’s voice was full of promise and desire, and it made Quatre’s knees weak. He clung to Trowa with one hand, shoes held tightly in the other. “Only if you take me to our room and show me just how much you’ve missed me all this time,” Quatre purred, sounding more confident than he felt in that moment.

“Deal.” Trowa replied, pulling Quatre to him again and setting off for the house, and whatever else the future held for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the photo prompt! Wasn't the way I'd intended to use this, but it just worked itself in sooooooo well!!!


End file.
